


coffee and kisses for your freckles and red hair

by ohmcgee



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Porn With Very Little Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Run-On Sentences, Sneaking Around, Underage Drinking, deadbeat parents, hot dad alert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6171421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(501):<br/>don't judge but I think I'm gonna go fuck a dad this weekend</p>
            </blockquote>





	coffee and kisses for your freckles and red hair

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [brings a change for you and me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5889670) by [likewinning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning). 



> I don't know what to say. This happened? Wally/Bruce is my new favorite. Byyyyyyyye
> 
> ps: This is in Wally's voice, so run-on sentences and stream of consciousness ahoy!

“Hey, Dickie, wait up,” Wally says, running to catch up with him. “Gimme a ride home? Dad forgot me again.”

“Uh, I dunno,” Dick says, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve kinda got a full car.”

“It’s alright, Dick,” Donna calls from the back. “Kori and I can walk to my house, it’s not that far.”

“No way,” Roy says, grinning. “Little Jay doesn’t mind riding in my lap, do you?”

“Roy --”

“Sweet!” Wally says and lifts up the seat, squeezing in the back next to Roy, Jason, and Donna. Kori gets to ride shotgun because her and Dick’s on again off again thing is apparently on _this_ week. 

After they drop Donna and Kori off at Donna’s house the car gets a little less cramped. Jay climbs between the seats and gets up front with Dick and Roy leans forward and pesters him the rest of the drive, pulling his hair, reaching around the seat to tickle him until Dick slaps his hand away. 

After they get to the manor, Jason goes off to do his angsty teenage art thing and Wally, Dick, and Roy climb up into Dick’s old treehouse and smoke up. Smoking’s alright, Wally guesses, but it’s not his favorite. Makes him feel like his arms and legs are made out of lead, makes his thoughts go so slow he can pluck them out of his head one by one, instead of mixing them all together the way he likes. 

Wally sprawls out on his back and squints up at the sunshine peeking through the cracks in the roof as Dick and Roy’s shotgunning turns into wet sounds and when Wally turns his head and looks over, Roy’s got his hand down the back of Dick’s jeans and Dick’s pushing back against it and --

His tummy growls. 

“Munchies,” Wally says, patting his belly and grinning at them as he pulls himself off the floor and climbs down the ladder. There’s always a ton of snacks in Dick’s kitchen and a million containers of leftovers and Wally needs approximately _all_ of them. 

He’s got his head buried in a bucket of chicken when he hears someone clear their throat, looks up and sees Bruce, Dick’s not-really-Dad, but close enough. He just got home from work, Wally guesses, but he’s already toed his shoes off and yanked at the knot in his tie enough that it’s loose around his neck, the top three buttons on his shirt undone and Wally forgets how to close his mouth.

“Oh hey, uh, Bruce. Hi. I was just.”

“Eating my food,” Bruce says, pulling at the knot in his tie until it comes completely undone. “Again.”

“Well I,” Wally says. “You know. My mom says I’m a growing boy.”

“Oh?” Bruce says, grabbing a water bottle out of the fridge and tipping it back. “If you smoke this much pot at home, then I’d understand why she would say that.”

“Uh,” Wally splutters. “I wasn’t. I don’t. I mean, what’s pot? Is it drugs? Just say no, I always say.”

Bruce chuckles and screws the lid back on his water bottle, licks the stray drop of water from his bottom lip. “Of course not,” he says. “Just as Dick’s not up in that rickety old tree house making out with someone I’ve forbid him from seeing.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Wally says, licking the grease off his fingers. “I just came to eat all your food, watch your cable, and maybe take a dip in that olympic size bathtub you got up there.”

“You mean _my_ bathtub,” Bruce says, lifting an eyebrow at him. “You were in my room?”

“Oh,” Wally says. “No? No. I just heard about it. People talk, you know?”

“About my bathroom?” Bruce asks, his mouth twisting into a grin. 

Wally sighs. “Fine. I got lost in your stupid huge mansion one day and it made me so tired I accidentally fell asleep on your bed. Do they really make beds that big or did you have it custom made? I mean, the headboard on that thing is _solid._ Do you --”

“Wally,” Bruce says, reaching across the counter to take one of the oranges out of the fruit bowl and starts peeling it so slow Wally wants to yank it out of his hand and tear it into shreds. “Has anyone ever told you you talk too much?”

“And this is me stoned.” Wally says, then catches what he just said. To Dick’s kind-of-Dad. Shit. “I mean. I’m not. I don’t --”

Bruce grins at him and slips a slice of orange between his teeth. 

That’s when the little one, Damian or Dorian or something, Wally thinks, walks in and scowls at him. “This,” he says, picking the bucket of chicken up and turning it upside down -- only a few crumbs fall to the floor and Wally blushes. “Is why I’m not growing.”

 

: : :

 

Wally stays over at Dick’s house a lot. And at Roy’s whenever Ollie’s out of town. Basically, he tries to stay anywhere that isn’t his own house as much as possible. If Dick’s house just happens to be his favorite because it has all the best snacks and a zillion comfy places to take a nap and Dick’s kind of hot sort-of-but-not-really Dad, then, well. 

It’s not that he doesn’t like spending time with Dick. Dick’s his _buddy._ Dick was the first person he called after he got his first blowjob. Dick’s the person he asked about _giving_ his first blowjob. Dick’s always been there for him, has gotten him out of _so_ much trouble, and makes a really excellent body pillow when Wally forgets he’s supposed to be studying and passes out on him. 

“S’okay if I stay here t’night?” Wally asks when he blinks his eyes open and notices it’s dark out already. 

“Of course,” Dick says, twirling Wally’s hair around his finger as he watches some stupid sci-fi movie with giant ants in it on his laptop. “I think Bruce likes you more than me.”

“Really?” Wally says, rolling up into a sitting position. “I can never tell if he likes me or not. I mean, I know he doesn’t hate me like he hates Roy, but. You think so?”

Dick shrugs. “He asks Alfred to pick up those Little Debbies you always destroy when you’re here. So yeah, probably. Why?”

“I dunno,” Wally says, busies himself with one of Dick’s magazines. Wow, those boobs are kind of terrifying. “I mean. Parents don’t usually like me. Eating them out of house and home, talking too much, never leaving…”

“Hey,” Dick says, poking him in the stomach and Wally giggles. He’s _so_ ticklish. “Bruce never thinks that. You’re always welcome,okay?”

“Yeah,” Wally says, feeling the back of his neck go red from all the awkward in the room. “I’m gonna go -- I still have a toothbrush here, yeah? I’m gonna go brush my teeth and grab a shower.”

“Yeah,” Dick says, smelling him. “You _really_ should.”

“Tool,” Wally says and shoves him off the bed. 

He grabs a towel from the closet outside and walks down the hall, has to wait for Jason to get out before he goes in, and practically moans out loud when he gets under the water. Dick’s house has the _best_ water pressure and magically never runs out of hot water. One time he stayed in for like an hour to see if he could use it all up and he just ended up deydrated with shriveled fingers and red as a lobster for about thirty minutes. It’s like some kind of sorcery. Sometimes he wonders if Dick actually lives at Hogwarts, then gets weirded out when he wonders if that would make Bruce Dumbledore. 

Still, he’s not one to waste water, so he puts one hand against the shower wall and wraps the other one around his dick, closes his eyes and pictures the usual. Topless cheerleaders, Dick dressed as a cheerleader, Dick and Roy making out dressed as cheerleaders, Bruce --

“Oh god,” Wally says and looks down as his cock jerks and shoots come up his chest, his knees buckling from the suddenness of it. “Wally West,” he mumbles to himself, dragging his fingers through it. “You’re officially a mess.”

He cleans himself off the rest of the way, washes his hair with Dick’s froo-froo lavender-jasmine shampoo and conditioner, then turns the shower off. He wraps the towel around his waist so he can brush his teeth, then grins at himself in the mirror. 

“So fresh and so clean,” he hums, opening up the door and barrelling right into...Bruce. 

His hair is still so wet it drips on Bruce’s t-shirt. 

“Sorry. Um.” Wally says. “I’m wearing a towel.”

“I can see that,” Bruce says. “I assume you were headed to remedy that before trying to walk straight through me.”

“Sorry,” Wally says again. “I didn’t see you or I wouldn’t have...tried to walk through you. That’d be pretty dumb, right? You’re like a brick wall.” Then he does the stupidest thing imaginable and actually puts his hands on Bruce’s chest. Like, right where his ridiculous pecs are and...squeezes. “Wow.”

Bruce makes a sort or strangled, choking noise in the back of his throat and peels Wally’s hands off of him. “Good night, Wally.”

“Right,” Wally says. “Sleep. You’re going to sleep. In your bed. Have fun! I mean.”

Bruce just shakes his head at him and walks off. Wally watches him go until he shuts the door behind him, then breathes out a shaky laugh and runs his hand through his wet hair.

“Definitely a mess.”

 

: : :

 

It’s not that his parents hate him or anything. They just like screaming at each other and throwing things at each other and getting drunk more. It’s fine, Wally likes plenty of things better than them too. Like doing body shots with Dick and Roy and Donna. Like bacon double cheeseburgers. Like --

Wally winces as something hits the wall and shatters. 

Like pretty much anything else. 

He pulls on a pair of jeans with holes in the knees and his sneakers and climbs out the window and runs. Running’s good. Running is another thing he likes more than being at home. When he runs he goes to this place where no one can touch him and there’s no screaming, no glasses hitting walls, just the wind on his face and the ground beneath his feet and that fucking amazing burn spreading through his legs. 

He doesn’t stop until he gets to Dick’s house, stops for a second outside to put his hands on his knees and catch his breath. He never really sets out with a destination in mind, just lets his legs carry him when his mind completely checks out, but more often than not, this is where he ends up. Here or McDonald’s. 

It’s been a week since Wally’s bugged him about staying over. Wally knows he’s a lot, that people need a break from him sometimes, but he hopes it’s been long enough that he can drop in and they can play Xbox or whatever and Dick will let him pass out on top of him and he can finally sleep without waking up every two hours to screaming. 

“Oh,” he says when Bruce answers the door. “You’re not Dick.”

“Not by a few years,” Bruce says, then swings the door open. “Come on in, Wally.”

Wally does and he notices a few things at once: that Bruce smells like alcohol, that he hasn’t shaved in a few days, and that the house is really, eerily quiet. The tv’s not on, Jason and Damian aren’t yelling at each other, Dick’s music isn’t blaring from his room. It’s just _quiet._ Wally thinks about screaming just to see how much it would echo. 

“I’m sorry, but Dick isn’t home,” Bruce says, even though he shuts the door behind Wally anyway. “He took Jay and Damian to see some film in the city. They were driving me crazy.”

“Oh,” Wally says, his face falling. He’s always sucked at dealing with disappoint, even the smallest, stupidest ones. Once he got a blue bouncy ball instead of a red one from the quarter machines in the supermarket and got so upset he vowed never to spend his money there again. “That’s okay. I’ll just -- I’ll go. Back home.”

“You could wait,” Bruce says and there’s this thing in his eyes that Wally recognizes, the thing he sees when Iris and Barry look at him when he runs away to their house sometimes and they don’t have to _ask_ why he’s there, they just know. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He’s glad Bruce doesn’t ask either. 

“Are you sure?” Wally asks. “I’ve been told I talk a lot and you seem to be enjoying a nice, quiet evening of...something. It is _really_ quiet in here.”

“It was,” Bruce says, teasing him, and -- teasing him? 

“You’ve been drinking,” Wally says. “You must’ve been to want me to stick around and pester you.”

“I have a glass of scotch every day after work,” Bruce rolls his eyes. “And you’re not pestering me.”

“Give me five seconds.”

Bruce gives him a look, swirls his scotch around in his glass, then knocks the rest of it back. “I like talking to you,” he says and Wally forgets how to blink. “Well. You talk in circles, but it’s rarely boring.”

“Everybody says it’s nonsense.”

“Maybe they’re just not smart enough to understand,” Bruce says and pours a little bit more scotch into his glass. “I know what it’s like, having so much in your head all at once.”

“But you,” Wally says, trying to put the pieces together, but coming up with only edges. “You’re --”

Normal. Functional. Not a freak.

Bruce shrugs, sips on his drink. “We all cope differently,” he says. “I work eighty hours a week and indulge in ridiculously overpriced grain whiskey. How do you get things to slow down?”

“I run,” Wally says before he even knows he’s going to say anything. He’s never told anyone that. No one’s ever _asked_ him before. No one’s ever looked at him like they know what he’s made of before either. It’s freaky and it makes Wally feel a feeling he can’t quite put a name to. 

“Did you run here?” Bruce asks and Wally nods. He can still feel the sweat on the back of his neck and knees. He doesn’t understand why he’s still here, why Bruce is still talking to him like he’s -- like he’s the kind of person Bruce would talk to. 

“I should go.”

“Do you want to go?” Bruce asks, watching him as he takes another swallow. 

_No._ “No,” he says. “But it’s weird. Without Dick here. Don’t you think it’s weird?”

Bruce puts his glass down at that and his face seems to sober up quickly. “Dick will be home in a few hours, but you are welcome to go up to his room and wait, if you like. You don’t have to --”

“Shit,” Wally says, suddenly realizing how what he said probably came out. “No, shit. I didn’t mean it like -- I just mean, it’s weird that you want to talk to me? No! Fuck,” he pulls at his hair, takes a deep breath, and spits out what he really means to say. “I just mean that you’re hot and smart and Dick’s kind-of-dad and rich and we have literally nothing in common and I’m kind of pathetic but you don’t have to pity me or whatever I’m fine, I don’t need you to --”

“Wally,” Bruce says, grabbing him by the shoulders and suddenly Wally realizes he’s shaking a little, just kind of vibrating beneath Bruce’s giant fucking hands. “Stop.”

“Okay,” Wally says. “Sorry.”

Bruce kind of ignores his apology, just like he ignores the little outburst he just had, and just picks his glass off the counter and tilts his head at Wally. “Actually,” he says. “I could use your help with something, since you’re here.”

Like Wally didn’t just call him _hot._ Like nothing weird or embarrassing just happened at all. 

And that’s exactly how Wally ends up spending his Friday night in Bruce Wayne’s den -- yep, people who aren’t on tv really have freakin’ dens, apparently -- setting up Bruce’s new phone for him. 

“You’re kidding,” Wally giggles when he asks him. “You aren’t actually ninety years old, are you?”

Bruce scowls at him and Wally just giggles harder. “How do you not know how to do this?”

“If you don’t want to do it --” Bruce says and reaches for the phone and Wally holds it out of his reach, still giggling. 

“No!” He says. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it. But I totally see why you wouldn’t ask Jason or Dick or the small angry one. They’d give you never-ending shit for not being able to figure out an _iPhone._ ”

“Precisely,” Bruce says. “And if you tell either one of them, I’ll --”

“You’ll what?” Wally grins. 

“I’ll stop feeding you,” Bruce says, like an evil mastermind, and when Wally gasps out loud, he laughs and -- man, that is a _thing._

Then Bruce is reaching for his phone and Wally’s a shit, so he holds it just out of reach and Bruce says, “Wally,” and leans in and reaches for it again and Wally says, “Bruce,” grinning so much it actually hurts his face and Bruce says, “Wally,” again, but this time it’s different. It’s his name, but it’s also something else, and Bruce’s eyes flick down to Wally’s mouth, then back up to his eyes, and Wally licks his lips and --

Headlights shine through the window.

“Dick’s home,” Bruce says and slips his phone out of Wally’s hand. 

 

: : : 

 

“Wallyyyyyyyy!” Dick wails when he walks through the door. “Baby! I missed you! How long have you been here? Bruce didn’t bore you with his record player, did you?”

“I do not have a record player,” Bruce says. “It is a _cd_ player, Dick. It plays _cds._ ”

“Whatever, it’s ancient,” Dick waves him off and throws his arm around Wally. “Come on, lets go make Jay draw us like his french girls.”

“I dunno, Dickie,” he says, smoothing his hands down his hips. “I just don’t got curves like Kate, you know?”

“You’re both idiots,” Jason says. “Bruce, tell them to let me paint in peace.”

“Dick,” Bruce says, kind of pointedly not looking at Wally. “Go find something to do -- something that doesn’t involve illegal substances or illegal _anything,_ preferably. Do you think you can manage that?”

“Fine,” Dick says, rolling his eyes. “Can we --”

“And nothing involving Roy Harper.”

Dick huffs and spends the next six hours complaining about how much he hates Bruce, how unfair he is, how he totally, totally sucks, and all Wally can think about is how he saw flecks of green in his eyes when he laughed. 

“Say he sucks,” Dick punches him in the arm. “That’s what you’re supposed to do when I’m being a whiny bitch, Wally. Keep up.”

“Oh sorry,” Wally grins and frogs Dick in the leg. “You’re definitely a whiny bitch.”

Dick attacks him this time, just comes across his beanbag and wrestles him to the ground, pinching his nipples until Wally bites him on the arm. When they finish grappling around, Dick just sits back on his legs and looks down at him seriously, though it’s hard to take him that way when he’s red in the face and his hair looks like a family of squirrels live in it. 

“Wally,” he says. “Do you like Bruce?”

“No, Dickie,” Wally rolls his eyes. “You’re right. He totally sucks. He’s an awful, terrible meanie. You --”

“Wally,” Dick says firmly, leaning over him. Wally can smell the chocolate milk on his breath; it’s gross. “Do you?”

“He’s nice to me,” Wally says, more honest than he means to be, and it sort of hurts the way you don’t expect, like when you wax your legs. Not that he would know anything about that. 

“Oh,” Dick says quietly, like he wasn’t expecting that, and just rolls off of him. “I’m going to steal a beer out of the fridge, you want?”

Wally rolls onto his belly and grins up at him. “Do you even have to ask?”

 

: : :

 

School sucks, but it isn’t all bad. In gym he gets to run _and_ look at cheerleaders and chemistry is just fucking awesome. He gets to blow things up on _purpose_ in chemistry and they don’t even send him to the school counselor for it. He gets kind of sucky grades in everything else, except for maybe math sometimes, but it’s not like anybody looks at his report card, so as long as he graduates, he doesn’t really care. 

Lunch is his favorite period because _lunch_ , but also because Donna spends the whole hour playing with his hair usually and everyone lets him eat their fries. Or okay, they don’t _let_ him, but Wally does it anyway and usually they don’t notice until they’re gone, so whatever. 

“We’re going to that party, right?” Wally asks them, his mouth full of the last half of Roy’s burger that he probably wasn’t going to eat. “The one at that place?”

“I wish,” Dick grumbles. “I’m fucking grounded.”

“Whoa,” Donna says. “Has that ever happened before? I didn’t know Bruce knew what that word meant.”

Roy grins, smug. “He does when it comes to me.”

Dick kicks him under the table. “That’s not an _accomplishment_ , asshole.”

“Sorry, sweetie,” Donna says while she twists his hair into braids. “Told Kori we’d have a girl’s night.”

‘“I mean,” Wally says, tilting his head back to look at her. “I’ve been called a girl once or twice. You could braid my hair. Put make-up on me. Play dress-up, have pillow fights…”

Donna smacks him in the back of the head. “Down boy.”

Wally deflates. 

“I’ll go with you,” Roy shrugs. “Ollie’s going out with some old dude he went to school with tonight, he’ll probably be pouring himself in bed sometime after dawn, if he even remembers where he lives.”

“Cool,” Wally says, bumping elbows with him. “Two hot red-heads against the world then.”

“Fucking right,” Roy says. “They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

 

: : :

 

Roy promises Wally on the way to the party that he’ll be his wingman tonight, goes on and on about how he’s going to help him pull the hottest chick in the room. So of course, he disappears on him about forty-five minutes after they get there, with the hottest chick in the room. 

That’s kind of the thing about Roy. He’s fucking great. Until he’s not. 

Wally tries a couple of more times. There’s a cute hipster girl even shorter than he is that pours her beer on his shoes when he stares down her shirt. A cheerleader Roy recognizes from school that slaps him in the face when he asks her about her spanky pants. Then there’s that guy that Wally bumps into on his way to the bathroom who just makes a disgusted noise at him when he waggles his eyebrows at him and says, “Hey, wanna help me out in there?”

So, whatever. It’s not like he _has_ to get laid. He can get drunk instead. Which works perfectly until he’s one of the last people left at the party and he can’t find Roy anywhere and he can’t even remember where he _is_ and he doesn’t recognize any of the people there. Plus, he shared a joint with some goth chick about half an hour ago and his paranoia level is through the _roof._

Which explains how he ends up in some strange person’s closet, shaking like a wet dog and trying keep his fingers still long enough to call Dick to come pick him up. Wherever he is. 

“Hello?”

It doesn’t sound like Dick, but Wally’s fingers don’t feel like his own fingers right now, so he can’t trust that. 

“I need…” Wally trembles. “I need you to come get me. I don’t know where I am. It’s dark. Oh, I’m in a closet.”

“What’s the address?”

“I...I don’t know. Roy drove. I don’t know where I am and there’s people. I don’t know anybody here and I --”

“Turn your GPS on,” Dick says, weirdly calm for him. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Stay right where you are.”

“In the closet?”

“If that’s where you feel safe,” Dick says. “Just don’t leave the house.”

“Okay,” Wally says. “Okay. I’ll be right here. In the closet.”

“Okay,” Dick says. “I’m hanging up now.”

And he does. And Wally waits. He keeps looking at his phone every five minutes. He has no idea why he didn’t just call Roy to come back from wherever the fuck he went, but whatever. He’s not thinking straight. Plus, Roy’s phone’s always dead. And oh yeah, he’s mad at him.

He keeps hearing people laughing and kissing and talking outside the door and he nearly jumps out of his skin when the closet door opens up and light floods his eyes and he’s being pulled up with big, strong hands that don’t feel like Dick’s at _all_ , and then Dick’s throwing him over his shoulder -- what the heck, when did Dick even get that strong? And tall. He doesn’t remember Dick ever being this tall. How long has he _been_ here?

“When did you get this strong?” Wally says and gropes Dick’s back and shoulders. “Dickie, when did you get all muscley?”

Then, once they get outside, Dick sits him down on his feet and --

Dick isn’t Dick at all. Dick is Bruce and Wally is -- throwing up. In an azalea bush. They were the pretty pink kind his mom likes. 

“Are you done?” Bruce asks after about the fifth time he heaves and nothing else comes out. “Do you think you can get in the car now?”

“I think,” Wally says. His throat hurts and oh god, he has puke on his chin and Bruce is looking at him. “Where’s Dick?”

“At home,” Bruce says. “He’s grounded.”

“But I called him,” Wally says. He remembers doing that. He thinks. 

“You did,” Bruce says. “And I answered it.”

He helps Wally get to the car, opens the door for him and everything, then he stares at him and says, “If you throw up in my car you’re cleaning it up.”

Wally gives him the thumbs up and climbs in the passenger seat. It’s totally fair. If it had been his dad who showed up and found him drunk off his ass and puking he would’ve said and done a lot worse. 

“I’d never puke in your car,” Wally says after Bruce gets in and drives off, petting the leather as he watches the street lights dance off of Bruce’s jaw line, then passes out. 

 

: : :

 

When Wally comes to they’re pulling up in Bruce’s driveway. Bruce puts the car in park in the garage and comes around to Wally’s side of the car to help him out. Wally’s sobered up a bit, but not enough not to wobble on his legs when he stands up. Bruce holds him up and Wally just sort of tilts forward, needing something solid to lean against for a minute. 

“Wally…” Bruce says, like a warning, but Wally just listens to his name rumble in Bruce’s chest when he speaks. Listens to the ba-boom, ba-boom of his heart beating. He shifts on his feet and Bruce’s hand slips, presses against the lowest part of his back, and Wally looks up at him, at the green flecks in his eyes and the chapped spot on his bottom lip and the scar on his chin and wants to know how he’s even fair. 

“I’m drunk,” he says. “And my mouth tastes like a family of roadkill crawled in my throat and died.”

“That’s --”

“But somehow, I still think this is a good idea.”

Then he stands on his tiptoes and closes his eyes and leans forward. His mouth only brushes Bruce’s for a split second before Bruce turns his head and his stubble scratches over Wally’s lips. It’s prickly and kind of nice, but not exactly what he was going for. 

“Wally,” Bruce sighs and takes his hand off of his back. “No.”

“Come on,” Wally tugs at his shirt. “Just once? You won’t even remember it in the morning.”

Bruce’s mouth quirks up. 

“That,” Wally says, licking his lips. They still feel kind of...prickly. That’s really the only word he can think of to describe it. “That wasn’t quite right, was it?”

“No,” Bruce says, almost fondly. “Come on, let’s get you inside. You’re going to feel like death in the morning.”

“Are we going to your big, big bed?”

“You’re going to the guest room,” Bruce says. “And you’re going to drink a lot of water.”

“I hate water,” Wally says. “It’s like drinking nothing. Except nothing probably tastes better.”

“I can run to the gas station and get Gatorade,” Bruce says and Wally looks up at him and laughs. 

“Oh, you were serious,” he says when Bruce doesn’t laugh. “That’s weird. No, I’ll be fine. Just need to put some water and tylenol in me.”

“Ibuprofen,” Bruce says. “Not Tylenol, unless you’ve got an extra liver on stand-by somewhere.”

“Nope,” Wally says, rolling into the guest bed. “All out of those. Stay?” He tugs on Bruce’s belt loops. “It’s cold in here. Dark. I’m scared of the dark, Bruce.”

“You’re relentless,” Bruce sighs and peels Wally’s hand off of him. “I’ll be right back.”

“That’s what they all say,” Wally mumbles into his pillow and everything goes dark.

He wakes up about six hours later with a bottle of Advil on the nightstand next to a glass of water and one of each flavor of gatorade on the floor next to him. 

He grins even though it hurts him in his brain and grabs the blue one, washes down four Advils, and passes back out. 

 

: : :

 

The second time Wally wakes up, he instantly wishes for death. Not even because of the hangover to rule all hangovers, but another reason entirely.

For some shitty reason, say for instance he was Hitler in a previous life and this is his karmic punishment or whatever, he always remembers the horrible things he does when he gets wasted. And it’s not exactly that he did anything truly horrible, not anything that he wouldn’t have done or at least _wanted_ to do while sober, it’s that he remembers everything _else._ He remembers Bruce coming to get him, Bruce turning away from him when he tried to kiss him and then taking care of him like a -- like a kid, basically, and yeah. There’s really no other way to take being rejected. 

He’s in the middle of trying to figure out how high up he is and if he can jump out the window so he won’t have to look at Bruce’s face when he tries to leave when Dick walks in with a plate of bacon.

“Cool, you’re alive,” he says. “Jay and I had a bet going.”

“My best friend,” Wally shakes his head and snakes a piece of bacon off the plate when Dick sits down next to him on the bed. 

“Sorry I couldn’t come get you last night,” he says. “Bruce is serious about the grounding thing. It’s weird. And he like, gave me an _extra_ speech this morning about how irresponsible and reckless Roy is. He sounded really pissed. I haven’t even talked to him! I don’t get it.”

“It’s cool,” Wally says. He _really_ doesn’t want to think about last night. “Have you talked to Roy?” 

Someone should probably check on him. He’s an asshole, but he doesn’t usually just leave Wally hanging like that. He might be in a ditch somewhere. Or passed out in the Waffle House bathroom like that one time. 

“No, but Bruce said I could run you home after you eat breakfast and I think I’ll swing by and check on him then. And smack him across the head a few times for you. I’m sorry he did that to you, man. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

“It’s no big deal,” Wally shrugs. “It’s just Roy.”

“Yeah,” Dick sighs. “But still. Anyway, I’m gonna grab a shower before we leave. Then you can, if you want.”

“Sounds good,” Wally says and shoves more bacon in his mouth. 

The door opens again a few minutes later and Wally turns to ask Dick if he needs directions to his own bathroom, but thankfully he forgets how to make words when he sees Bruce standing there. 

“Feeling better?” Bruce asks and shuts the door behind him with a soft _snick._

“Bacon,” Wally says, holding the piece in his hand up, like that’s an answer. But Bruce smiles and nods, so maybe it is. 

Suddenly Wally’s very aware that he shed his shirt some time during the night, which sounds like something he’d do, but folding it up and setting it on the dresser definitely doesn’t, so something’s not adding up there. He scratches at a phantom itch at his chest, getting his skin all greasy from the bacon as Bruce comes over and sits on the bed. He doesn’t sit as close as Dick had, just far enough away to have A Talk. 

Wally thinks he might throw up again. 

“I kissed you,” Wally blurts out. He's not very good at the waiting part. “I mean, I tried. You didn’t want me to. I’m sorry. I was -- I mean, you know I was drunk. Sorry about that. And sorry you had to come and get me and --”

“Stop,” Bruce says, almost meeting his eyes, but not quite. “Stop saying you’re sorry.”

“Sorry,” Wally says. “I mean. Whoops.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Bruce says. “You called a friend for help. Dick couldn’t come, so I came instead. And I’m not going to chastise you for getting drunk. Perhaps you should have been more responsible about it, but I’m not anyone to judge.”

“And,” Wally says, his mouth suddenly parch dry. “And the other thing. The thing where I -- you know. I should apologize for that. It was --”

“I said,” Bruce interrupts him, _finally_ meeting Wally’s eyes and wow. Wally wasn’t ready for that. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“Oh,” Wally says, wetting his mouth. “What?”

Bruce sighs, then closes his eyes. “I’m only going to do this once,” he says, but quietly, like he’s only talking to himself, and puts his hand against Wally’s cheek, presses his mouth against Wally’s and Wally’s too fucking shocked to do anything back, and his mouth is so fucking dry and probably tastes like bacon grease and morning breath, shit, but Bruce just --

He kisses him. Open mouthed once Wally gets his shit together and parts his lips for him and Bruce's hand slides around to cup the back of Wally’s neck, and then there’s the briefest slide of their tongues, the smallest, barely-there hint of teeth on his bottom lip, and then Bruce is pulling away, retracting back to his side of the bed. 

“You’re too young,” he says to an empty space on the wall. “We can’t -- I can’t. But I couldn’t let you think that I didn’t want you.”

Bruce just -- he just said _that_. Bruce just fucking _kissed_ him like he has definitely never been kissed before and Wally’s still holding a piece of bacon in his fucking hand. 

It’s the most ridiculous moment of his life, probably, until Dick barges in the room with blue hair and says, “Roy accidentally joined a cult. We have to go get him.”

He doesn’t even hear Dick and Bruce yelling back and forth at each other, just leans back on the bed and touches his mouth and thinks _I know what he tastes like._

Only once, Wally thinks, grinning with a mouthful of bacon. Fuck _that._

 

: : :

 

They manage to get Roy back from the weirdo cult girls safe and sound and Wally spends half the week coming up with his plan. He meant to wait until the weekend to try and pull it off, but by the time Thursday rolls around his patience is completely shot and he can’t focus for anything, so at lunch he asks Dick if it’s cool if he sleeps over that night. 

“On a Thursday?” Dick asks, giving him a funny look.

“My parents,” Wally shrugs, even though he feels kind of like an ass for pulling that card, but it works, so whatever. 

He goes home with Dick that afternoon and they sprawl out on Dick’s floor and Wally does Dick’s chemistry while Dick does Wally’s econ for him and Dick snaps at him about a dozen times to stop tapping his pencil on the book or shaking his leg or grinding his teeth or --

“Wally,” he says. “How _much_ Adderall did you take today?”

Wally flips him off and goes back to drawing squiggles in the margin of the paper. While Dick is texting and doing Wally’s econ for him, Wally’s think about Bruce. 

_Bruce._ Bruce will be home soon, looking all hot shit in his suit and tie, smelling like coffee and rich things, and --

“Sweet,” Dick says after his phone buzzes. “Bruce is working late. We get to order pizza.”

Wally drops his head to the floor and groans. There is nothing more unfair than his life.

 

: : :

 

Still, pizza is pizza. Wally puts away an entire pineapple, bacon, and olive one on his own and half of Dick’s mushroom before Dick bites his hand. After dinner, they lounge around in the living room with Jason and Damian, watching X-Files reruns until Damian passes out and Dick gets up and totes him to his room like the kid isn’t half his size or something. 

Wally tries to stay awake until Bruce gets home, he _does_ , but it’s been a long day with a lot of shit going on in his head and he just ate a truckload of pizza, so he gives up about nine forty-five and crashes on top of the covers in the guest room. 

He wakes up about an hour and a half later from a particularly horrifying nightmare about ladybugs, realizes he barely drank anything with his eight hundred slices of pizza earlier, and pads downstairs to get a glass of water. 

“Wally,” Bruce says, scaring the _bejesus_ out of him when he opens the cabinet. He’s just standing there in the dark, leaning up against the counter with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, eating a piece of cold pizza like it’s no big deal. Like he’s too cool for electricity or something. “It’s a school night.”

“I know,” Wally says. “I just --” No, he can’t give Bruce the same bullshit excuse he gave Dick. “We did all our homework, scout’s honor.”

“Mmhm,” Bruce says, washes his pizza down with his nightly glass of scotch. 

“Anyway,” Wally says and grabs a glass out of the cabinet, walks over to the fridge and presses it against the dispenser. “I just came to get something to drink. I won’t bother you.”

He can feel Bruce watching him as he fills his glass up, meets his eyes when he turns around and raises the glass to his mouth. 

“You aren’t bothering me,” Bruce says and when he shifts and the moonlight spilling in through the curtains hits him just right Wally notices that his shirt is unbuttoned all the way down, his tie draped loosely around his neck and --

Well. That’s.

“Wally. You need to stop looking at me like that,” Bruce says and Wally jerks his eyes up. 

“Well, you need to stop _looking_ like that,” he says and sets his glass down on the counter, then closes the distance between them, steps right up into Bruce’s space and looks up at him.

“Wally…”

Wally tugs on the end of Bruce’s tie until it slips all the way free and places it on the counter next to his scotch. 

“I’m legal in twenty three states,” Wally says, pulling everything out of his head. “I’m old enough to get married, join a union, apply for a passport, join the army --”

Bruce kisses him before he can rattle off all the age of consent factoids he memorized this week, which is definitely, totally better. He grabs Wally’s face and backs him up until Wally’s back is up against the refrigerator and Wally hears a couple of magnets clatter to the floor, one of Damian’s report cards, and a take-out menu from that Thai place Jason loves. 

Wally’s head is spinning. Bruce isn’t kissing him anything like the morning he was hungover. This is a hungry, desperate kind of kiss that makes Wally’s mouth sore and his dick wet. He slides his hands inside Bruce’s open shirt as Bruce licks into his mouth and sucks on his bottom lip, flattens his palms out over Bruce’s chest and feels Bruce’s breath hitch against his mouth. He slides his hands up all that hot skin and muscle, up and over his shoulders, then Bruce is kissing him even harder, fucking Wally’s mouth with his tongue and pressing their bodies together and fuck, Wally can _feel_ him. 

He wants -- oh fuck, Bruce _wants_ him. Maybe it’s ridiculous that that’s just now really hitting him, but that’s what happens. All of a sudden the realization that Bruce is totally into this just as much as he is just slams into him so hard it makes him dizzy and Wally is scrambling to push Bruce’s shirt off his shoulders, clawing at his skin and biting at his mouth, wrapping one of his legs around Bruce’s waist and Bruce fucking _growls_ into his neck and hitches his leg up higher and _grinds_ and --

“Fu-uck,” Wally gasps out when Bruce’s dick drags over his. 

“Shh,” Bruce says, putting his hand lightly in front of Wally’s mouth to keep him quiet and Wally just turns his head and sucks Bruce’s fingers into his mouth. They taste like salt and sweat and nicotine and Bruce’s breath catches and his eyes go really, really wide and Wally takes his finger down deeper.

“You have no idea…” Bruce says and Wally lets his fingers out of his mouth, says, “Please,” before Bruce can tell him what he doesn’t know, and then Bruce is pulling Wally’s other leg up and wrapping it around his waist and Wally instinctively wraps his arms around his neck and Bruce just starts to fuck him despite the layers of clothes between them. Despite the fact that Damian and Jason and Dick are upstairs, that the refrigerator is wobbling a little bit every time he thrusts against him, despite every reason for him not to want to do this, he _is._ And he’s breathing hot and heavy against Wally’s neck and Wally says, “Oh god, I’m going to come,” and gets Bruce’s sweaty palm flat over his mouth when he does, so that he doesn’t wake the whole house when he screams. 

Bruce pulls his hand away when Wally stops whimpering and kisses him through the rest of it, slow and lazy sucking kisses, sweet, sharp bites on his bottom lip, until Wally’s too fucked out to even kiss back. 

“Beautiful,” Bruce murmurs next to his ear and Wally shivers. 

“No one’s ever called me _that_ ,” Wally says and Bruce says it again -- and then again, until Wally’s starting to get hard again just from one stupid word.

“Oh,” Wally says. “You didn’t -- wow, I’m a dick.”

Bruce just chuckles. “I’m not as young as you. Takes a little more than a little kitchen grinding to get me there. Sorry.”

“Sorry? Shut up, _god._ I’ve needed your dick in my mouth since _forever_ , Bruce.”

“Wally, no,” Bruce whispers as Wally drops to his knees and tries to undo his belt. 

“Please,” Wally says. “I promise I’ll make it so good. I’ve been practicing ‘cause I had this feeling you were big and I didn’t want to --”

“No,” Bruce hisses and hauls him up off the floor, pointing up at the ceiling and -- oh. Wally finally hears it, footsteps padding around upstairs. It’s probably just Dick getting up to take a piss, but. Yeah. 

“Fine,” Wally whispers in a huff, then looks up at him. “Raincheck?”

Bruce touches the corner of Wally’s mouth with his thumb and Wally has to fight the urge to suck on it. “Raincheck,” Bruce says, then kisses him one last time before he heads to his room. 

 

: : :

 

“So,” Dick says at the breakfast table the next morning, licking the icing from his toaster strudel off the back of his hand. Jason and Damian haven’t gotten dressed yet, so it’s just the three of them. “Since you and Wally are screwing, can I stay at Roy’s tonight?”

Wally chokes on his waffle. 

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Dick rests his chin in his hands and waits.

“Yes,” Bruce finally says, though it sounds like it’s being pulled from his teeth. “I suppose you can.”

Wally nudges him under the table with his foot, grins, and steals a piece of sausage from Bruce’s plate. “And you were worried!”

 

: : :

 

Still, even though Dick knows and is pretty much cool with it as long as Wally Never Ever Not Ever speaks of their sex life, Bruce still isn’t cool with letting the other two in on it, so that means more sneaking around. 

The next time Wally stays the night, he goes to the guest room like he always does after Dick passes out. He lays awake and drums his fingers on his stomach and counts to a thousand, waits until Damian’s asleep and Jason’s done painting and has gone back to his own room before he quickly and quietly slips down the hall to Bruce’s room, which at least is far enough away from the other bedrooms that they don’t have to be too paranoid.

Bruce is laying on top of the covers reading when Wally lets himself in. Bruce is shirtless, wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants, and sets his book down when he sees him. 

“Hello,” he says, smiling. “Did you get lost?”

“Mm,” Wally says, starting at the foot of the bed and crawling toward him. “It’s a big house. I thought this was my room.”

He bends down and kisses Bruce’s belly, then feels Bruce’s hand in his hair. 

“Come here,” Bruce says and drags Wally up to his mouth, kisses him slow and soft at first, runs his fingers through his hair and down his spine. When Wally rocks his hips against him the tempo of the kiss changes to something hungrier and Bruce’s hands move from Wally’s hips to his ass, squeezing and kneading as Wally sucks on his tongue, then gripping hard and dragging Wally over his dick. 

“Fuck,” Wally gasps out into his mouth. “I want that.”

Bruce chuckles, pulls Wally’s ear between his teeth. “I do believe I was owed a raincheck.”

“Fuck yes,” Wally says and scoots off of him, back down the bed, chanting _please let this be good, please let this be good_ in his head over and over. 

When he finally gets Bruce’s clothes off, Wally goes for his dick like a too-eager puppy, laps at the precome spilling over the head of his cock, then laps at it again when that makes even more spill out, making Bruce let out this sort of shuddery breath above him. 

He gets Bruce’s hand on the back of his neck when he wraps his mouth around him and swallows him down and Wally never liked that much before, but now it makes _his_ dick leak, makes him want to hump the mattress while he takes as much as Bruce’s cock as he can. 

Which isn’t enough. He wants all of it, wants to feel every inch of Bruce in his mouth, but every time he tries to go past a certain point there’s choking and gagging and Wally thinks it _can’t_ be that hot, but this time when he gags Bruce’s hand tightens in his hair and he says, “Wally, _Christ_ ,” like Wally had just done something amazing, so Wally tries it again. 

He chokes a little again, or a lot maybe since tears kind of well up in his eyes, but Bruce gasps again and more precome floods Wally’s tongue and fuck it tastes good, so Wally keeps it up. After a while of doing that his throat feels raw and his jaw very well may be stuck in the wide-open position for the rest of his life and even his neck has a cramp in it from bobbing up and down for so long and it’s best feeling _ever._

“Your mouth,” Bruce says, looking down at him with this frenzied look in his eyes that Wally’s never seen before, his mouth bitten red, his hairline matted with sweat. “Can I, please --”

Wally looks up at him, his mouth stretched wide and filled up, just barely nods his head, and Bruce takes hold of his face with both hands and just brings Wally’s mouth down on his cock, fucking Wally’s face on him until he says, “ _Wally_ , I can’t --” and Wally feels the hot splash of come against the back of his throat, then more of it filling his mouth, spilling down his chin. There’s too much to swallow so it goes everywhere, makes him completely filthy, but apparently Bruce is okay with it because he sits up and kisses him, sucks the come off his chin and his tongue and his lips and everywhere else.

“You’re perfect,” Bruce says, kissing his cheek, his forehead, and it’s weird how proud Wally is of how heavy Bruce’s breathing is. “That was amazing.”

Then he’s pushing Wally’s sweats off his ass and wrapping his hand around his dick and Wally _bucks_ into it.

“So gorgeous,” Bruce says, kissing down his chest as he strokes him. “One day,” he says. “I’m going to map out every freckle on your body with my tongue.”

“Oh god,” Wally says and his hips jerk and he comes all over Bruce’s hand, shaking so bad Bruce has to hold him together. 

“You know, you’re kind of filthy for an accountant,” Wally says as Bruce brings his hand up to his mouth and sucks the come from his fingers. 

Bruce snorts. 

“Do you really,” Wally starts, then stops to chew on his bottom lip. “I mean. Do you actually like my freckles? Really? Most people --”

“I hate most people,” Bruce says. “And yes, I do.”

“Oh,” Wally yawns and curls around him. “Cool. I’mma go to sleep for a little bit now.”

“Yes,” Bruce says, peeling him off of him. “In your own bed though.”

“Ugh,” Wally groans. “It’s so faaar.”

Bruce chuckles and stands up, pulling Wally out of bed with him, tugs him close and kisses him, runs his fingers through Wally’s hair and smiles. “Raincheck?”

“Fine,” Wally grins. “Raincheck.”


End file.
